Tried
by Alleyprowler
Summary: After the wars, the Gundam pilots are brought to trial for war crimes. Only one is convicted.


Disclaimer - The Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing characters used within this story are © Bandai, Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, etc. This work of fiction is intended for free entertainment purposes only. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.  
  
Working Title: Tried Without Peers  
  
Author: Alleyprowler  
  
Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst  
  
Pairings: None  
  
Warnings: None. I'm just running the prologue up the ff.n flagpole to see if anyone salutes it :)  
  
Notes: Inspired in part by "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
27 November, AC 198  
  
One by one, the members of the War Crimes Tribunal submitted their verdicts. One by one, red lights from the ballot machines flickered on. The Tribunal members were seated in a wide semicircle at the head of the vast courtroom, arranged in five tiers of twenty-one seats in each tier. The central figure in each tier was draped in the scarlet robes of the High Justice from each colony; the regular members were robed in black. Black for grim authority, red for vengeance. Red lights for a verdict of guilty.  
  
Down on the main floor, behind the defendant's table, the accused sat with his head bowed and his eyes closed. He didn't need to see the voting to know what was going on since he could hear the shouts of mixed bloodlust and outrage from the spectator area behind him. More than that, he could feel the waves of anger washing over him, and while some of it was on his behalf, most of it was directed at him. The force of emotion sent a deep shudder through his body.  
  
He felt a hand rest on his right arm. "Steady. Don't let them see it affect you. The press is going crazy enough as it is." The advice from the head defense counsel was sound, but not easy to follow. Not when so many people wanted to see him to suffer and die for his crimes.  
  
One by one, the red lights flickered on. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Some of the Tribunal members were in obvious distress over their verdict and took several minutes before passing judgment, but in the end each black- or red- robed figure was sitting behind a baleful red light. Guilty.  
  
A temporary hush fell over the crowd as the Speaker of the Court entered the courtroom and took her place on a ceremonial dais in the center of the Tribunal arch. Her robes were white; white for truth, impartiality, and justice.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced in an electronically enhanced voice that carried all the way to the back of the cavernous room, "the Tribunal have reached their verdict. They have found the defendant, Quatre Reberba Winner, guilty of crimes against humanity under Revised Colonial Law Section." she let her announcement trail off; it was futile to go on under the onslaught of raised voices.  
  
The roar began in the back of the room, gathering volume and momentum as it swept forward. Righteously outraged voices, angry voices, frightening voices. The sound could hardly be recognized as human at all.  
  
The Speaker let it go on until it reached a kind of climax, a towering crescendo of emotion, and then she raised one hand in a command for silence. Slowly, she got it. When even those in the press boxes had settled down, she continued.  
  
"The accused will be sentenced to two hundred sixty consecutive lifetimes in penal colony CF-3-J1X99 with no chance of parole. Sentencing is to begin immediately."  
  
A fresh outburst occurred amongst the spectators as the Speaker left the courtroom, but Quatre didn't hear it. He let out a breath that was barely aware that he had been holding and let his shoulders slump and his head rise, unmindful of the fact that it gave the journalists a clean shot of his pale, expressionless face. It was over now. Three months of his own trial preceded by a year and a half of the trials before his were over now. His life was no longer in the balance. He knew at last where his future lay.  
  
One lifetime sentence for each civilian life he had taken. Two hundred and sixty lifetimes for two hundred and sixty lives. It seemed a fair exchange.  
  
Quatre stood and let the learned men escort him to his well-deserved death. 


End file.
